The BFF
by Keiko Oda
Summary: I'm not nitpicky with details. In fact, I hardly remember them at all. But I know that I will be forever cursed with the memories of my best friend. Mikan's getting married, and I, Natsume Hyuuga, had her memorized just too late.


**To the reader,**

Most of you have probably forgotten about me. The GA Community here on has grown and changed in the six years I've been a member of this website. I was part of the first generation of GA writers, and most of them have been long gone. I apologize for always telling all of you that I'm going to update, when I never do. I'm really sorry about that, I realize that I cannot commit to any longer. I have heavier priorities and my life, which juggles school, a relationship, family and friends, can hardly keep track of the stories I write. My writing style has changed, because I'm older now. I'm not sure if it still fits the environment of the GA Community, especially since I've stopped reading manga and watching anime. Gakuen Alice, however, was a big part of my life before, and I will never regret, much less, forget it.

I'm posting a story now because I've been reading the works of one of the most well-renowned Japanese authors today, Haruki Murakami. You guys might want to read his works. He has an eccentric, post-modern style. For Christmas, my boyfriend got me a collection of his short stories called _The Elephant Vanishes. _There was a story there called _A Family Affair _that really inspired me to get back in touch with Japanese culture. So here I am, publishing this piece. I hope you like it! Happy New Year everyone! I miss you all :)

**The BFF**

By Keiko Oda

I cannot distinctly remember the day we met – that is, if it was a Monday or Thursday, or what the colour of her dress was, whether I was wearing sandals or moccasins, or if she greeted me with a _hello_ or _hi. _I'm not nitpicky with details, and I often forget about them. Unlike her, trivial things are no matter to my conscience. I guess that explains why I often forget the names of the girls I hook up with, or what to get my sister for Christmas (I usually get her the same old pair of socks.) Either way, I recall that it was in the beach, sometime thirteen to fifteen years ago (Told you I forget!) and that she was, by far, the ugliest girl I had ever seen.

I do not know how we became best friends. Usually, I stay away from such repulsive people. She was amusing, I guess, and pretty stupid. It was entertaining to watch her clumsiness melt like butter on a sauce pan and spread all over the place. We went to elementary and junior high school together, and though we did not hang out in school, she would hang out in my place or I would cover over to hers. Her mom was a cute, little creature, who always gave us delicious snacks while we played video games or watched TV. She often teased me about being Mikan's (that was her name) boyfriend, but that girl had the body of a meter stick, and I make sure not to _sexually_ affiliate myself with such boring landscapes. Friends often told me that physique was never a part of falling in love. I begged to differ.

I suppose that was how we drifted apart in high school. For one, we went to different academies. My dad sent me over to some preppy school uptown Tokyo, while she went to a conservatory in the eastside. Mikan liked playing the violin (or the cello, I forget – they're all the same,) and she pursued it with this really annoying passion that made her as forgetful as I was. She did not return my phone calls or my text messages, and she even blew me off to attend some pesky recital of her classmate. She went to Europe to perform once, and dear god, I missed her so much that when she back to Japan, I almost kissed her. Note, _almost. _Mikan is my best friend, I would never even lay the slightest finger on her.

Instead, I got my hands on prettier girls. You know, the ones with long legs, round breasts, and a waistline almost invisible. I usually picked them up from train stations or bars, wherever they were flaunting their miniskirts and tube tops. How many hotels I've checked into, I don't know. Though drunkenness was something I was never initially proud of, I considered my ability to get chicks in bed faster than the blink of an eye_ definitely _ a true talent. Mikan knew about this, but I also knew that she had hooked up with the boys at her "music school." We were even. She kept insisting that she had never done it before, but her polka-dot panties were too revealing for me to believe a single word.

Sometime in college, we got back together. I didn't see her often because she was always travelling with her orchestra or band or troupe or whatever. I saw her on TV sometimes, scraping at that violin (or cello, I told you I forget!) of hers, with her cheek bobbing up and down like a pinball. Sometimes, when I was making love to some girl, I would leave the TV on so I could catch her on time right after the conjugal act. I was proud of Mikan. When she would come home, we would talk about a bunch of things – mostly not about her cello (Or violin) adventures, because those were boring. We would talk about a heck load of things – secrets, in fact. I may have even loved her for a time, but that was before I lost my virginity.

Either way, we were 23 years old now and she was as golden as ever. They called her _Mikan the Magical_. A name such as that should be flushed down the toilet. Just cause she was so good at violin (or cello) doesn't mean that they could go giving her some crappy, commercialized name. "Oh Natsume-kun, they're just being sweet," she would tell me, as she would flip over the magazines. I would simply scoff at her. That idiot will never learn.

And to that idea, I am most certainly correct. And this was thus proven when she brought out a photograph of one of her bastard conservatory friends out of her wallet. She expected me to jump for joy when I saw that he had his arm around her and was kissing her cheek. Hello, he had pretty blonde hair and even a prettier pair of blue eyes. "Who _is _he?" I demanded of the repugnant creature. And she told me, quite blatantly (I am not one for sugar coatings, but this one came off too barefaced) that he was her fiancé.

"Your fiance?" I spat out my drink. "Since when are you getting married, you stupid animal?"

She put her finger to her lips. "Will you keep it down? We're in a public place. A restaurant! Do you want to get arrested?"

"Me? Arrested? Listen, girlie, if there's anyone being _illegal _over here, it's you!"

She raised an eyebrow and popped a piece of chicken into her mouth. We had gone to lunch out for the day.

"Since when did getting married become so illegitimate? People do it every day." She said calmly.

"People hook up every day!"

"No, that's just you, you man whore." She replied, pointing her fork at me. "If I'm not mistaken, you slept with another girl last night, didn't you? I tried calling your apartment at 7:00PM and your answering machine was on! For your lazy bum to be out on a Sunday night means that you're banging one of your blank-faced women at some cheap motel!"

"Why does my personal life mean anything to you?" I rolled my eyes. People were staring at us.

"Because I'm your best friend, Natsume. Why would my marriage mean anything to you anyway?"

"It means nothing to me."

To this, she was hurt. She stopped chewing and she swallowed her food, pushing back her meal and sighing. She placed the photograph back in her wallet and called for the bill. I stared at her in shock. Was she going to leave? She had never done this before. That bitch.

"Polka-Dots, wait," I told her.

"Natsume, you might want to stop calling me that. I'm going to be married in March."

"Even more time to try and get away from the guy!"

She banged her fist on the table. "Why can't you just be happy for me, for once? I have found the perfect guy, Natsume! And I intend on spending the rest of my life with him!"

I scoffed. "The rest of your life will be _over _once you'll get married, don't you know what they say?"

She crossed her arms. "What, Natsume? That having a family, a house and a stable career is much better than throwing yourself at sluts, living in some crappy apartment and supporting pornographic commercials?"

I swallowed. She fished out her money from her wallet and placed it on top of the cheque. "If you excuse me, I've got a few errands to run."

"What the hell are you leaving me for? What are you expecting me to do?" I said, flailing my arms.

She stood up as she glared at me. I had never seen her so angry. "I don't know, Natsume. Go check that phone book of yours sleep with another one of your girlfriends."

And with that, she walked off.

She was right about me having slept with another girl last night. And she was also right to have had accused me of getting it on with another random nobody after that fight of ours. I called one of those desperate females and we did it in my car that evening. She expected me to take her home after, but I knew the girl lived an hour's drive away and there was no way in hell that I was going to beat traffic for her. I told her I had a headache, and I dropped her off in the metro. When I got home, I cleaned my car after. I hated the smell of women in my car.

The next morning, I found a message on my receiver. It was Mikan. She gave a quick apology and told me that she Ruka was inviting her to his place over in Osaka and he would want me to come with her. We would have to take the train, she said, but it was just an overnight stay and it would be a good to get to know her "husband-to-be." How disgusting, I thought. But she knew I was going to come anyway, and told me she'd meet me in the train station by two thirty. That gave me enough time to eat and pack some clothes, drink a few beers at the bar and get the number of this blonde booty I planned on banging in the next week. I took a cab to the train station after (I wouldn't bring my car) and met my best friend there. She already had the tickets, and we climbed aboard together.

It took four hours for us to get to Osaka, plenty of time for us to talk about Ruka. Apparently, he was in the music industry (surprise there, Ms. Cello/Violin girl!) and was a young, budding producer for Fibonacci Records. The idiot praised him so much ("Oh, he was magna cum laude back in college, you know!" / "He has a whole life plan! He even has a savings account so we can travel Europe someday!") that he pretty much sounded like the saviour of mankind. She showed me more pictures, and I should be awarded a Nobel Prize for having enough patience to look at each of them. Each bloody photo annoyed the hell out of me. If you asked me, I'd rather be looking at Playboy magazine.

"So how's the latest girlfriend?" she asked. She could tell that I was getting board once I started dissecting my cucumber sandwich and examining its parts.

"You know I don't _have _a girlfriend, idiot," I told her, my eyes affixed on the gooey mass of the vegetable. "Why do you keep asking me that?"

Her fingers drummed on her cup of green tea. "I sometimes wish you'd settle down. Get steady with someone."

"It's collect and select in my game," I told her.

"No, it's collect, bang, and throw away," said Mikan.

"You're getting on my nerves," I hissed, "It's fun. I choose to live my life as I please. Besides, women are so confusing and clingy that it's so damn difficult to stick to just one."

I smiled crept up on her face. "So that means I'm _special, _huh?"

"What the hell do you mean?"

"It's difficult to stick to one right?" she said, teasingly. "But I've been your only BFF since forever."

I looked at her. I didn't really know what to say. I never really thought about that. I shrugged and I looked out the window, looking at the rice fields whiz past me. The sun was already setting.

"I think I'll sleep first, alright?" she said. "I think we'll be arriving in an hour. Wake me up then?"

"No. I'll leave you here to rot." I said, sarcastically.

I watched her drift off as she leaned her head against the wall and take deep breaths. Her mouth slightly opened as her eyelashes fluttered into sleep. I had a magazine in my bag, plus a video game. But I did not get them. In fact, I could hardly remember what magazine or what game it was. I wanted to look at Mikan. I just wanted to watch her sleep, and try, as forgetful as I am, to memorize her face over and over.

Ruka met us by the train station, and he was definitely a "dashing" fellow. He wore a navy blue blazer and black, slim pants. I was about to ask him why the hell he wore wayfarers at seven o' clock in the evening, but when I saw his shiny, silver Lexus, I shut up. Anyway, he seemed like a nice enough guy. In the car, he asked me what I did for a living. I told him that I was in advertising, but I didn't want to tell him that the stuff I did were GQ and Playboy. He looked like a decent fellow. He even had dimples.

"Mikan told me all about you," he said, as we skimmed the highway silently. "She just can't seem to shut up when she starts yapping about Natsume this, Natsume that," He gave a small grin. "It sometimes gets me jealous."

Mikan and I exchanged glances and she burst out laughing, her cheeks turning bright red. "Ruka, you don't need to be jealous! You're the one I'm marrying, right?"

I don't know if she meant to offend, and I don't know why I was offended. But after she said that, I whipped out my iPod and put it on full blast. She asked me something but I brushed her off and closed my eyes. This time, I didn't want to look at her.

We got to his house, which was a huge, traditional Japanese abode. It had a wide, dark green roof and Shoji walls and a big rock garden with a lot of frogs. He told us that it was his ancestral home, and the whole family came here for weekends. Ah, a family man, I thought, just picturing his and Mikan's future babies puking all over the floor. I shuddered at the thought.

His mom and his dad were waiting for us. They looked like a well-to-do couple. His mom had fluffy, buttercup-coloured hair, just like he did. And his dad was this regal-looking fellow with stiff shoulders and a thick, gray moustache. They sat us down to eat. They served a heck load of tempura and miso soup and dumplings. I ate heartily.

They burned through topics so fast that I couldn't keep track. They talked about Ruka from his diaper days to his soccer phase to the time he graduated college. I would've heard his whole biography, but I'm not nitpicky with details. I can tell you though that he had two girlfriends before Mikan and apparently, they were not nearly as pretty as she was. "One of them had buck teeth and the other had a moustache and both of them had insane obsessions," Ruka said he wouldn't go any further. He laughed. I didn't. It made me question what type of lady he saw in Mikan. I raised my eyebrow.

Still, the Nogis seemed like good, amiable people. They were all successful people. Mr. Nogi owned a business firm in Tokyo, something to do with plastic and paper. His wife stayed home and kept house, but she was a well-renowned ice-skater in her day, and when they brought us to the den after dinner, I saw her many medals and trophies displayed on a shelf. Ruka was kind enough to entertain me. We talked about cars and gadgets and even women, at one point. But when he saw Mikan eyeing him, he remembered that he was going to get married, and immediately shifted to the topic of how my friendship began with his fiancée. I told him that I didn't remember much, except that it was in the beach and that we've been friends ever since. I didn't know what came over me, but I started uncontrollably rambling on about our many adventures together, like the first time she got drunk and the first time I lost my virginity and she went on a rampage and didn't talk to me for weeks. There were some stories where Ruka seemed uncomfortable, like the time I told him we both jumped in a pool together and we were just in our underwear. I assured him that we were fourteen at that time. But still, he seemed unnerved and told me that he needed to go to bed. He called Mikan with him. I didn't bother asking him what they were going to do.

Mrs. Nogi showed me the guest room. I looked at the clock and saw that it was already twelve midnight. I didn't realize I talked so extensively about the idiot, and neither did I notice how tired I actually was. I washed up in the bathroom and put on a pair of boxers and a Nirvana t-shirt. I slipped into the futon. It smelled like lavender, which was much different from the smell of my bed. My bed smelled like cigarettes and sweat. As I stared at the Shoji walls, I thought about how different Ruka's life was from mine. Not that I cared though. But he had a family and a successful career. He was going to have a _wife. _He had so many goals. When I told him that I was living for the thrill of it, he told me that he respected that spontaneous outlook. Still, as I stared at Mikan from across the room, I wasn't sure if I had the best philosophy.

I was about half asleep when I heard the door open. I could tell from the sound of the footsteps that it was no other than Mikan. I lay frozen in bed. Maybe I was dreaming. She had no business here. But when I felt her creep into the futon with me and tap my shoulder – when I smelled the scent of tangerine, in fact – I knew it was real. "Are you awake?"

I turned around and saw her, her brown eyes staring right at mine. "What are you doing here?" I asked.

"Well," she whispered. "I'm getting married in a few months, and I realized that I've never, in my entire life, done anything _risky._"

"Yeah, but climbing into another man's bed is kind of sinful for an engaged woman such as yourself," I laughed, even though it was inappropriate.

"I've always wanted to do this," she told me.

I swallowed, as I felt her arm wrap around my neck. My body had never been this rigid. When she saw that I was frozen, she sighed and she sat up. She was wearing a silk negligee.

"Yeah," she said, shaking her head. "I shouldn't be – Ugh, I'm so stupid." She stood up.

What came over me, I don't know. I reached for her hand and pulled her back in bed. I wrapped my arm around her waist and kissed her, without any hesitation. And with a glorious revelation, she kissed me back. As I felt her mouth move in perfect synchronization with mine, I realized that only she could give me such a heavenly feeling inside my body. I asked her if the door was locked, and she told me it was. And she also asked me why I had never tried to kiss her, and she told me that if I did, she would be madly in love with me.

When I asked her if she was, and when I saw her nod, we kissed some more. I did not take her clothes off. Not because I wanted to sleep with her, because I did. But because she was more precious than all the other girls I've gotten in bed with. She allowed me to feel every inch of her body, as she did with mine, and as we discovered ourselves fully and wholeheartedly, something inside of me cried out of regret and remorse. How long have I wasted my life on the bodies of other women, when I could have crept into the soul of this one.

Dawn was already breaking when she told me that she would have to go back to her fiancé, her _husband,_ she called him. We both stood up from bed and looked at each other. I kissed her neck and memorized every detail of her body. I held back my tears, but she did not hold back hers. She burst out into sobs and put her hands to her face. I asked her if she loved me once again, and she told me that she hated me with every bit of her soul. I did not blame her.

She kissed me again, on the lips, softly. I let my fingers trace her skin under her nightgown. I kissed her face, wet with tears. She told me she could not take it any longer, and she hastily left the room.

I went back to bed and fell back to sleep. I thought of Mikan's body. I thought of her soft, sun-kissed skin and her long, wavy, hair – the beautiful ringlets that fell below her breasts. I thought of her earnest, brown eyes and her thin, pink lips and how they curled up under her cheeks in cute little dimples. I thought of her voice and her whispers that almost sounded like quiet chimes in the wind. I thought of her body, so smooth and petite, how glorious her sweat tasted like. I thought of how many women would die to make love to me, and the only woman I wanted to actually _sleep_ with – not in that way, but actually sleeping, when you drift of knowing that the person you love is breathing right next to you, allowing you to hold her at her most vulnerable state.

I am not nitpicky with details, and I often forget them. But I knew in my heart that I was going to be cursed with my memories of my best friend – the one that could never, not in a million years, be _mine_.

I did not cry much, but tonight, I let out a painful sob. Not something you'd hear. But something, if you've listened to this story, can most definitely feel.


End file.
